We cannot leave the school compound unless accompanied by Metu. Metu is the matron, an old turkey who acts like our mother. Think of the worst gossip among our servants. Now give her power over us. That is Metu. We are herded like cattle, fencing around the school and a gate like on a kraal. There is only one entrance to the school. The guard writes down the names of those entering and leaving. Just the other day I went for a walk, just to see the area, but they stopped me at the gate and a teacher was called. I said, for taking a little walk? But they said I was escaping. You don’t know Europeans; they take simple issues seriously and serious issues simply. They don’t understand us, we don’t understand them, let us agree on that. We go to bed by sunset. No lights in the dorm because girls would write bad letters to boys. If you are slow to wake up in the morning, you are locked in. No breakfast. You must wait until a teacher comes to punish you. Every little thing, punish, punish, punish. But I tell you, girls in this school are so proud.
This is a whisper, Alikisa, please guard it. Some nights I don’t sleep well because of Miiro. My heart beats at me—You gave up Miiro for this hunger? And I have nothing to say because I also want nursing. I tell my heart, Keep quiet, it is too late. Did you see him before he left? Was he still angry? Sometimes I feel shame. Sometimes I want to write to his college but then I say, tsk, you have caused enough pain.
I am going to stop here because the bell for supper is about to go and the paper has run out and I have only one sheet. Oh, the teachers call me by my Bibiyana name, Vivian, your Lozi is Rose. So I sign off with,
Yours starvingly,
Vivian Balungi Nsuuta
Gayaza High School
P.O. Box 7029
Kampala
24th Febwari 1940
Dear Alixa,
How come you have not replied me? Maybe the letter got lost in the Posta. I wrote two letters, one to Mmengo Hospital and one to the parish. I think if you joined the midwifery you would have written to me by now. I believe you are still in Nattetta.
You remember when we learnt how to make envelopes in class? Go to the para tree, get its sap for gum to make envelopes. Give the letters to the people travelling from the parish to Mukono or to Kampala. They just have to take the letter to Posta with a waafu. Did you see how I wrote your name? That is how you make it exotic. I am studying a lot of subjects: Home Nursing, Dome (that is what we call Domestic Science), Dressmaking, English and Maths, Geography and Agriculture. So many tests—intelligence test, oral English, written English, arithmetic, eh.
What do I tell you? Nsangi walks past me without a glance. At first, I thought it was because of Miiro, but then I realised she only talks to girls from high families: princesses, Kakungulu’s daughters, Kulubya’s, Zikusooka and Sir Apollo’s granddaughters. Girls here thought she also grew up in Entebbe or in Kampala, but I told them she comes from deep, deep Bugerere where fowls scratch in reverse. I told them I turned down her brother’s proposal.
We have two orphan babies. I am not lying. Real breathing human babies, donated to the school by Ssanyu Babies’ Home, to learn how to look after babies—winding and bathing them, tying nappies, and diet. I said, but these Europeans know how to waste time. Who taught our mothers how to bring up children? Let me stop here about mad Gayaza for now. I will not write another letter until you reply me.
Yours studyingly,
Nsuuta
Nattetta Church Parish
Bugerere
15th Maachi 1940
Nsuuta Bannange,
You wrote. A whole letter. And as I got used to the first one another one arrived. You should have seen me. People said, Eh Alikisa, we did not know you had happiness. I read the letters again and again. Then I took them to my class to teach letter posting. We cut and glued envelopes. I showed my class where to put the stamp, the address. I showed them the date you wrote, the date on the stamp, and the date they arrived. Now look at me telling you about my class, before explaining.
Don’t ask what is happening. Ask what is not happening; it will be easier to write that. First, Father cancelled my midwifery. He said, Stay here and help us with teaching at the school. He said I don’t need training to teach elementary. Now I walk in class and the children stand up to say, Good Morning Mistress Nnanono, and I say, Good morning class, sit down, in English.
Nsuuta, Luutu has changed towards me. When he sees me, he stops and greets me with respect. He calls me Old Woman. If he was not a good Christian, I would have had bad thoughts. His wife is the same. Mother is very proud to be friends with high people. She is always smiling at me as if overnight I became beautiful. Then two weeks ago, Luutu bought me two sheets of cloth shining like mya. I said to myself, why would Luutu buy me cloth? But I kept quiet because Father and Mother were very happy. We were still admiring the garments when he came for them and sent them to Kampala to make me a gomesi, like your Gayaza boodingi uniform. That was when I realised Luutu is beautifying me for Miiro. Don’t you see? What else could it be? I think he and his wife have decided who Miiro will marry. It cannot be Dewo—Catholic priests don’t marry. It cannot be Levi; he is just four years older than me. Finally, I asked Mother what was going on; she said she did not know, but the happiness on her face was of one roasting plantains. If it is true, our dream may come true. The only problem is that it is Luutu pushing it, not Miiro. Miiro might come home and say no. But how lucky will I be if it is true? I am trying to be pleasant, I smile a lot. The good thing is that Luutu has control of Miiro. When he told Miiro to give up going to Buddo for his farming studies, he did not argue. If we marry, I want to reassure you that I will be true to our pact. I am only keeping your place warm. So, forget Alixa, it might be Muka Miiro one day. I am sure these are the news you want to hear. I will write more as soon as things happen.
Me, your very own,
Alikisa Lozi Rose Nnanono
Eh, I had forgotten, I am sorry you are so hungry. Next time take some roasted groundnuts, roast dry maize, and coffee beans to chew on when you are hungry.
Nattetta Church Parish
Bugerere
23rd Apuri 1940
Dear Nsuuta,
I hope your studies are fine. Did you get my letter? I wrote it in the middle of last month. I know letters take a long time in the Posta, but I could not wait.
Let me say I have never met anyone cleverer than you. You said it would happen, but I did not believe you. I thought you had made a mistake, but maama, you were right. It looks like Luutu prevailed. Miiro came to visit two weeks ago after Paska, on Easter Monday. We cooked for his family. Mother was all over the place with happiness. He smiled a bit and my heart spread out. But Luutu is not allowing us to do walkabouts. It is all very secret. Afterwards his family went home but Miiro was told to stay and talk to me.
My parents left us to talk to each other in the living room, but Miiro was very quiet. He asked how teaching was going; I said, fine. He asked if I had heard from you. I lied, no. He said, How will your friend feel about you and me together? I said Nsuuta chose Gayaza: maybe she will not mind. Then he left. I think he likes me a little but not very much like you. Mother says if a man likes you then it is a good sign. Love comes later. He visited three times before he went back to study, but we did not have much to say. He did not stay very long. Wait till the villages find out; words will fly. He went back to Bukalasa yesterday, but I am shaking inside.
What do I tell you? Our friend Nnaaba married Diba, sickly Diba. The wedding was in Maachi. You should have seen the groom. Like a mosquito. He looked about to drop dead. But Nnaaba was proud. I think she married for marriage’s sake. Serves her right. Remember how she laughed at us for staying long in school? Now she is the one who has married a small man.
Can you believe Luutu told my father girls come out of Gayaza half European? Apparently, Miiro should not marry a too-educated wife—they make hopeless wives for farmers because they cannot handle rural life. In my heart I thought, that means Nsangi will marry a chief. Then I realised th
at is why Father refused me to do midwifery. Oh, the drum for after-lunch lessons has sounded. I have to prepare tomorrow’s classes.
It is me, your sister forever,
Alikisa Rose Nnanono
Gayaza High School
P.O. Box 7029
Kampala
3rd Meyi 1940
Dear Alikisa,
How you have given me the best news. You don’t know what your letter has done to me. I thought I had lost him, but this gives me hope. I will sleep well. Just make sure you don’t lose him. The villages don’t know you are being prepared for Miiro because when I came for holidays no one talked about it.
We did not even see each other. Yii bannange. I spent most of the time in the house. I dared not show my face, especially in church. Those who came to the house told me that people assumed I have Gayaza airs and don’t want to associate with villagers any more. I said, yii, but what about the things they have been saying about me? Mother was dying of heartache. When I returned home, she could not even look at me. She was not even proud of my white boodingi uniform. I slept in Maama Muto’s house. When Father found out, he told me to sleep in his house. I sent you messages, but you never came. I said, yii, even Alikisa has turned against me. But now I understand the Miiro thing had started and your parents would not let you associate with me.
I am used to the school now. I like netball. I wish I could bring it to Nattetta Native. Girls here are either going to do nursing or teaching. But some want to go to Buddo for higher study and they are not ugly at all. But for me, three years here in Gayaza is enough, then I will study nursing in Mmengo and then I will be back in Nattetta treating illnesses and marrying my Miiro.
Ha, but Nnaaba has embarrassed us too much; how could she marry that little man of mosquito? She could have got a better man. Her parents must have panicked her. However, had it been one of us who had married that Diba, you would have heard Nnaaba—she would be still laughing. Now who is going to do gossip justice?
Your older sister,
Vivian Balungi Nsuuta
Nattetta Parish
P.O. Box 004
Nazigo
Bugerere
28th Juuni 1940
Dear Nsuuta,
These news are so burning it is a surprise the paper is not on fire. I will start with the small news. Look on top right hand of this letter. We got our own P.O. Box. We are lords now. Nazigo has a Posta with boxes. Luutu got his own, your father got his own, the Ssaza got his own, the two churches and the schools each.
You will not believe this: the banns for our wedding were announced in church, I am not lying you. Kristoofa Miiro, son of Bulasio Luutu of Nattetta, plans to marry Alikisa Lozi Nnanono, daughter of Eliyafazi Lubowa … Ayi. The church roof almost flew off with shock. Even I was stunned. Church caught fire. Father said, Quiet, quiet, but people kept talking until Luutu himself stood up and raised his voice. People stared at me. No one told me they would be announced. When we stepped outside church, everyone wanted to shake my hand. People said, At least you have common sense. Then your mother came and called me a thief. She said, We thought you were our friend, but now we know who you are. My mother heard and came. She told your mother her name is not Ekyagaza Omubi for nothing. I knew my mother’s name was Kyagaza, but I did not know it is the short form of a saying. Apparently, Ekyagaza Omubi means that whatever makes a plain wife beloved, the pretty ones never realise.
I do not know why the banns were rushed. Miiro has not visited my aunt yet. We have not done the introduction rites. Maybe Luutu cannot keep it a secret any more and used the church to make the announcement. I hope they are not rushing Miiro. Meanwhile Luutu, his wife, Father, and Mother are planning the introduction rites for Agusto and the wedding for Desemba. Me, all I do is go to school and teach.
Lastly, Luutu bought a car. Maama nyabo, it glows like embers. The first day he drove it to church, all villages came out to see: the church was overflowing. Father said it was a sign God was blessing the parish. The only problem now is Nsangi’s pride—how can I avoid her when I am marrying her brother?
Now let me greet you in English. How are you smoking the atmospheric pressure over there at Gayaza? Our Nattetta is still the same. Hunters are hunting. Farmers are farming. Father is preaching. Muka Luutu is retiring from leading the Mothers Union. Mother is taking over. Father is studying to become a reverend. I am to become Muka Miiro very soon. How do you like my English?
Me, your very sister and bride-to-be,
Alikisa
Oh, I had forgotten, Diba made Nnaaba pregnant. People asked how he did not collapse dead on top of her. Even my father said, Aha, but man is only skinny across the river; but let him close. Maybe he saves all his energy for the night.
This is real goodbye now.
Gayaza High School
P.O. Box 7029
Kampala
15th Juuni 1940
Yii Alikisa,
Do you realise I cannot come to your marriage rites? When we planned it I did not realise how things would happen. It is good that Miiro likes you. Ignore my mother, she loves wealth too much. Luutu’s car must be killing her. I wish I could tell her you are only keeping Miiro for me, but she would not understand.
You will not believe this. My eyes need galibindi. That is why I had problems all along. The teachers insisted I should not read with my finger. Sit up straight, Vivian, they would say. I gave up reading aloud in class, tears were falling, my eyes could not follow the line from margin to margin without a finger to guide them. Finally, Miss Corby took me to Mmengo Hospital.
You should have seen the nurses—smart, clever, and efficient. Some were white, some Indian, some Baganda. I said I was right, this is where I belong. Let me experience this nursing before I bury myself in marriage. Then the eye doctor checked my eyes. He told me I needed to wear galibindi. I almost danced, but he looked grave and there was sorrow in Miss Corby’s eyes. Unfortunately, he sent me back to school without them. First, they measure your eyes, then they cut the glasses according to your measurements. Now I am waiting. Next time you see me I will look clever just. Oh, I forgot; how are the preparations for your marriage rites? We have Posta? We are on the world map. Next letter tell me my father’s P.O. Box so I can surprise him with a letter. Luutu bought a car? Ha. But you are marrying rich, Alikisa. Take care of my Miiro for me.
Your older sister,
Nsuuta
Gayaza High School
P.O. Box 7029
Kampala
30th Juuni 1940
Dear Alikisa,
I am sure you have not received my last letter, but I cannot wait. My galibindi are on my eyes right now. The world is beautiful like you have never seen. When I started to see properly, I marvelled and marvelled.
It was hard at first. I thought I was going mad because the world seemed to fall on me. When I walked, I lifted my feet too high. Sometimes my feet touched the ground too soon. Objects seemed far but when I reached for them they were close. I felt veins in my eyes stretching. But when I talked to the other girls who wear galibindi, they said that they felt the same when they first got theirs, that I should be patient. Two days later I woke up and wore them and the world transformed. Girls say I am proud to wear galibindi, but I was just ogling the world. Outlines of objects became sharp. Edges so sharp they could cut. Alikisa, you have never seen such clarity. The only problem is that when I take the galibindi off, the world seems worse than it was before. I am worried that the galibindi are killing my natural sight.
Look at me talking about myself. How are you? Tell me everything happening with my Miiro. Alikisa, I am telling you as my sister, so don’t take it badly. Sometimes I hear what is happening between you and Miiro and I regret a bit. But then I say to myself, how can you think like that? Alikisa is your younger sister. Trust her. And I trust you.
Your older sister,
Nsuuta
Gayaza High School
P.O. Box 7029
Kampala
> 12th Okitoba 1940
Dear Alikisa,
I could not wait until I go back to Gayaza to write this letter because anger is killing me. I am writing this letter right here in my father’s house. Since I cannot talk to you directly, I will use this paper.
I cannot believe what happened today. Did your mother think I was attacking you? The way she pulled you away from me. I stood there looking like a jealous woman when all I wanted was to talk to you. For the first time, I wanted to shout to the whole church that I passed Miiro on and I can take him back if I want. I expected you to say something, but you just kept quiet. Truth is bitter, but I wonder whether we are still friends, let alone sisters.
Nnaaba walked home with me from church dripping with concern because you stole my man. Eh, how are you holding out? she said as if I was dying of heartbreak. Bannange, these friends we call our sisters. Who would have known that plain Alikisa would uproot you? I said, Alikisa did not uproot me, I walked away from Miiro, but she would not believe me, especially when everyone now thinks I was trying to attack you today. I think we should protect each other. When people talk about me badly, you should tell them I don’t hate you. I did not foresee that we would have to hate each other in public. Had I known, I would have married Miiro myself.
Now let me put anger aside; I saw how everyone looks at you with envy. Now people say you are beautiful. Maama, you looked so good in your gomesi. Like you are already married. Then I saw Miiro coming out of the church and I ran. Did you like my galibindi?
Eh, you have not told me about the introduction rites. I hear Miiro brought a lot of presents even though your father did not ask for dowry. My mother is still gnawing herself with envy. She counted to me the presents Miiro brought for your family as if she was there. I said, Mother, Luutu was showing off to make you jealous, but she said it worked. Alikisa, I am ashamed my mother did not come to your rituals. That she did not join your family in preparations. I said, Mother, try and hide your jealousy, but she said it was too much to hide. Apologise to your mother for me.
A Girl is a Body of Water Page 29